Grief is hard. It's always walking around in a fog. Forgetting everything--why did I come into this room? Why am I on this street? What am I doing? Brain fog, it turns out, is real.
Also, I found out that I am not grieving for just one person. I am not grieving for just my grandson. I grieve for my daughter, too. For every tear I shed, there are more for her. How can I not? She is my daughter, and her life has changed forever. She will never be the same. So, I cry. A lot. I miss my grandson, and I miss her.
I wake up every morning, and the minute reality hits me, I instantly become sad. That's how I start my days now. Sadness overwhelms me. I hate the new reality of my life and that of my family. We are missing one. We are now broken.
I have yet to return to church. I am still angry with God. I went from a person who prayed a lot to a person who does not want to pray at all. I do not want to talk to God. He has let me down. He did not protect my family, and honestly, that's all I really ever wanted from him: protection. Actually, thinking this over--I do pray a little. I tell him I am still mad at him and don't want to talk to him. I guess that's a start.
I try to tell myself that I am making progress. I am walking out the steps of grief. I am not isolating. I am making plans, moving forward, and keeping busy. I need projects. I need to have things to focus on, even though I lose that focus often. Life feels empty, so I try to fill it with plans and more plans.
Am I navigating grief? I don't know. I am trying hard. I am giving it my all. I am honest with my feelings. I am feeling the feelings. It's been almost two months now since Jack died. Everything reminds me of him—every single thing. I hear him saying, "Hey, grandma, whatcha got in the pantry? Hey, grandma, can I use your shower?" When I am out shopping, I see things that he liked. I see the foods, the clothing, shoes, you name it, it all points back to him. I guess that's normal, though. I hear that from a lot of people.
I worry about the upcoming months. His birthday is in October, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up. How will we manage? It scares me. I want to hide my head under the covers, fall asleep, and wake up in January.
For now, I will continue to do what I am doing. I will try to pray, I will try to go to church at some point, and I will meet with friends. I will be with my family, which brings me much comfort. And I will try to heal. But I will never be the same. My heart is in little broken pieces all over the ground. I am hoping someone will come along and sweep them up. I thought it would be God.
